


Petrichor

by azucardesandia



Category: Tonari no Kaibutsu-kun | My Little Monster
Genre: Aged Up, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Future Fic, Headcanon, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Not Drunk Tho, Old Friends, Porn with Feelings, Reunited and It Feels So Good, So much flirting, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24032494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azucardesandia/pseuds/azucardesandia
Summary: Ten years later, the gang meets up for a belated reunion get-together at Micchan's batting center/apartment. Natsume can’t remember at what point during the party she started coming up with excuses to stay longer, but when the others were getting ready to leave and they didn’t question why she wasn’t picking up her things, she didn’t either.
Relationships: Misawa Mitsuyoshi/Natsume Asako
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is like, 80% cheese and 20% explicit cheese, so. I’d like to dedicate this fic to my younger self who started this 7 years back when TnK fandom was a thing and then completely abandoned it around halfway through. I finished! She would never believe it. She’d probably ask “w h y ?” and I wouldn’t be able to give her any sort of answer. Anyway, here’s adult Micchan and Natsume hooking up!
> 
> I’m sorry I gave Micchan an e-cig, and a manbun. That’s it. Also this fic is 7 years old. I recommend reading with wine.

“Do you want to stay?”

Micchan is looking out the window when he asks. One hand holds the curtain open, the other his cigarette.

“Doesn’t look like it’s going to let up soon,” Natsume decides on by way of response, her voice the perfect blend of concern and uncertainty as she cranes her neck from the couch farther than necessary for a better look.

Then she remembers he’s not looking her way and instantly drops the facade along with her head in her hands, face burning quietly as she processes those five words.

_Do you want to stay?_

Despite her evening-long overthinking, she hadn’t been expecting this invitation—and her heart had been so busy climbing up her throat she wasn’t able to pull herself together enough before answering him. Or not answering him, as it were. ‘ _Why are you so nervous? He’s only doing the right thing. The weather is_ terrible _.’_

Another peal of thunder and lightning rolls through the sky. The sheets upon sheets of rain pelting the roof and windows more than highlight her understatement.

Something in his voice strongly suggests he’s smiling when he offers, “No. It doesn’t,” and nothing else, serving only to fan the flames of embarrassment in her cheeks. Great. Could they just go back to their conversation from 2 minutes ago so she could get a do-over?

He pulls the curtain shut against the storm raging on the other side and she lifts her head. She can’t help but notice how the way he smiles around her always seems to walk the line between Deeply Amused and 50 Shades of Mellow—along with the unfailing side effect of turning her knees to jello she’s since become thoroughly reacquainted with throughout the evening.

The pinch of concern in his brow sits her up a little straighter. “I wouldn’t recommend driving under the conditions, Natsume-chan, but naturally it’s up to you. There’s Haru’s old room you can stay in—it’s sort of a guest room now, but his old stuff is still in there. I’ll clean it up for you. You’ll have a warm bed to sleep in, and I can rest easy knowing you’re safe.” He pauses thoughtfully, then lightly adds, “Of course, if you’d prefer to brave the storm rather than face the mysteries of Haru’s room, I’d completely understand.”

Natsume almost rolls her eyes at his infuriatingly easy smile and gives nothing away about how he just as effortlessly captivates her or how torn she’s feeling.

Of course she wants to stay. She can’t remember at what point during the party she started coming up with excuses to stay longer, but when the others were getting ready to leave and they didn’t question why she wasn’t picking up her things, she didn’t either. Micchan hadn’t hinted she was overstaying her welcome, and now he was offering her a bed.

That’s way more than she bargained for, and she’ll take it, but something tells her she owes more to the weather than the off-chance Micchan isn’t playing Gracious Host for one second of his life. Can he be _entirely_ obtuse about the much more suggestive interpretations she could make of his invitation? What exactly is she up against here? What exactly is she even hoping for?

He grants her time she doesn’t need while he inhales from the slim black pen between his fingers. She watches his chest rise slow as he takes a drag. She can tell he’s practiced even as tech-averse as she remembers him, movements routine-smooth as he pulls the device from his lips, vapor spilling from his mouth like clouds of the softest smelling vanilla. The scent is gentle as it fills the room, not at all over-powering—not unlike Micchan himself.

Natsume releases a breath of her own, breaks away her gaze, and observes her fidgety hands with only a margin of the incredulity she feels.

Regardless, she reminds herself (screams at herself, seizes her self’s shoulders and shakes), of how dependable or hard-working or genuinely charming this man in front of her still is, Micchan… is Micchan.

The same Micchan in whose simultaneously thoughtful and careless hands she’d experienced the highest highs and lowest lows of her early high school life, and all within a few short eventful months.

It had all been very dramatic, hadn’t it? But as with many first brushes with heartaches, it hadn’t been all bad.

Micchan had been a valuable voice of reason—helped steady her legs, clumsy on a rough new road to friendship with Mitty, Haru, and Sasayan. He’d been there when she needed it, with his own trove of experience—realities that weren’t always what she wanted to hear, but was almost always better off knowing. Where others may have chalked up her problems to just part of being a teenager, he listened—not handing her a one-size-fits-all answer and assuming she wouldn’t know the difference. She would’ve known.

Even if, in retrospect, simple teenage problems were all they turned out to be, he’d understood that didn’t make them any less real to her. She never told him, but his kindness and respect had been a lesson that stayed with her long after she’d left town, shaping her into a better kind of friend than she would have been without him. The same could be said for Mitty, Sasayan, and other friends she holds dear and near to her heart.

When she thought about it, conscious of the place she’d been in ten years ago, she really could have easily resented the guy like she had so many others at the time. Instead, she’d loved him.

There was a particular brand of naiveté that had been crushed when he rejected her. Luckily that heartache hadn’t ended in resentment either, but helped her to grow, not quite like she’d wanted—it hadn’t been with him—but perfectly well just the same.

He’d been right—as usual. Micchan’s response to her feelings was the only way a young adult in his 20s should handle a lovesick 17-year-old high school girl. He’d been protecting her even then, and she appreciated him all the more for it.

At 27, it gets harder to dodge the dreaded questions about her love life, and that may have bothered her before (it still does) but now finds she has fewer qualms about hitting back with less than diplomatic answers: “No. Really. I’m happy by myself,” or “Yes, of course I’m still interested in finding a boyfriend,” or “The only clock that’s ticking is the time you’re making me waste on all these questions,” have all become regular parts of conversation within certain unavoidable circles in her social life.

Regardless of her relationship status, she’s a fairly affectionate person. Sometimes, before becoming a burden, being loved was a comfort—a soothing balm in a world where the reality for her was that neither timing nor circumstances are ever just right for the luxury of a mutual love.

But this was rarely a problem when what she wanted was to be held, to be touched. She’s been with both men and women who have comforted her, because sometimes the elusive One sounded no different than the fairy tales she obsessed over as a kid—and a woman has needs. On cold nights like this, she took their proffered love and cocooned herself in the warmth it gave, faintly reminiscent of feelings she used to have, hoped to have again someday. She was thankful when they too were content by the time the morning light flickered across their sleepy sated faces. It was the ones that came back after that made her second-guess herself and she hated it.

_There’s no seat for you within my heart. No matter how many years go by, there won’t ever be one._

She still remembers the one time she’d recalled those words exactly, the persistent faceless man she’d parroted them at with maybe half the sincerity and good intentions they’d been said to her, and how the nausea rocked her as soon as he’d walked out the door.

Back on Micchan’s couch, Natsume snorts humorlessly.

Her thoughts had taken an unexpected turn to the depressing somewhere along the way. So she has some intimacy issues to work through—who doesn’t? Soon enough she’s giggling.

“Well,” says Micchan. “Now I really don’t recommend driving, under any circumstances. Has the sake gone to your head, by any chance?” he asks kindly around his cigarette.

“Nope! And you can go ahead and get me a refill since you’re up and… it looks like I’ll be stuck here for the night.” _Finally_ she says it. Natsume sticks her chin out at him and meets his curious smile with an impertinent one of her own, as if he hadn’t already graciously offered her a place to stay.

He chuckles and breathes another gentle stream of smoke in the opposite direction, looking like he wants to say something as he plucks Natsume’s glass from the clutter on the coffee table. He sounds faux-chastising as he says, “My, my, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Willful as you’ve always been, huh.” She hums sweetly in reply and her eyes follow his backside as he moves around the couch to the kitchen. “Well, I suppose that’s a good thing. Make yourself at home, Natsume-chan.” She turns back around with her hands in her lap and a grin that had no business looking that thrilled.

“Thank you! Pardon my intrusion. Heck of a way to end the party, huh?” she adds on the wake of another crash of thunder, looking in awe from the couch at a sliver of violent sky peeking through the curtains.

“I can’t think of a more fitting end to a party thrown by you bunch, to be honest,” his voice answers from some distance behind her. There’s a jarring clatter of glass knocking against glass and then Micchan’s voice again, hissing and colorful. She’s considerate enough to give a commiserating wince before pouncing on her chance when she sees it.

“Micchan,” she singsongs. “Has the sake gone to your head, by any chance?”

His timely copycat “Nope!” gets a delighted laugh out of her, pulse fluttering in her throat and she thinks, suddenly, as bright and sharp as the lightning outside his window, that there’s no way she’s not sleeping in his bed tonight.

At first, Natsume quietly sits with this, considers the idea with cautious interest as it sizzles in her mind, and, insofar as he would be willing—she realizes she _means_ it. She resists the urge to nurse the first tendrils of a budding stress headache. Clearly she underestimates her ability to make her own life way harder than it needed to be.

She decides to put a pin in the idea for the time being, lest she be rendered speechless around a man she hadn’t felt tongue-tied around since she was 17.

There’s a gentler noise of bottles clinking now that staves off her headache almost immediately, and despite personal night-changing revelations, Natsume can’t help but smile. _What a night_ —way better than she’d originally imagined, that much was for sure. It’d been one pleasant surprise after another all night and showed no signs of stopping yet.

She hadn’t been sure what to expect coming home after so long, but seeing everyone was something she’d been excited about nonetheless. She’d been so afraid the physical distance between them all would somehow translate when they saw each other again—a big and empty and nameless something standing in place of familiarity.

Micchan hums a song from the kitchen with the rain his calming backdrop—a slower version of a song she’d sung earlier during karaoke with everyone—and tears prick behind her eyelids, but her smile only grows. This still felt like home. _She_ was home.

Her smile turns wistful and Natsume falls back against the cushions, curling cozily in on herself and picking absently at her polished manicure. She doesn’t think she’ll ever forget how hard she squeezed her arms around Mitty (who’d hugged back almost as enthusiastically) or how her eyes teared with relief then too at the familiarity and ease of it all.

She’d also never forget how Haru had then barged in between them and placed a hand on Mitty’s belly, saying,

* * *

“Whoa! Careful! You’re gonna squish my kid, Natsume!”

Even as Mitty hit him over the head for what she soon found out was a lie, Natsume cried as hard as if it’d been real. “How is a grown woman still this fussy? Stop crying,” Mitty told her, not unkindly.

“I’m trying… It won’t stop!” Natsume replied, fanning her streaming eyes.

She hugged Sasayan next, whose first words to her were “your mascara is all over your face—don’t get it on me” followed by his arms tight around her. She stained his coat a little, but really whose fault was that.

“Wait a minute,” he said suddenly and pulled back mid-hug. “Should I be asking for your autograph? Should we be hiding? Are there paparazzi hiding nearby?”

“You _should_ be kissing the ground I walk on,” she countered easily with a finger on his chest, “but life isn’t always fair.”

“Wait, why would you ask for her autograph?“ Mitty asked as she swatted Haru’s hand from her belly again.

Haru draped an arm over Mitty and Sasayan’s shoulders. “Don’t you know, Shizuku? Even I know! Our Natsume is famous!” She was pinned by three different sets of expectant eyes.

“Oh, don’t listen to these silly boys, Mitty. I have my usual social media accounts on the side and a few blogs I run,” she started and Sasayan smoothly interrupted with “with _thousands_ of followers!” to which Natsume shot him a stern look for before continuing, ”I _should_ be famous for but no, what they’re referring to is… a-an article I wrote for a freelance gig that… got picked up by this _sort of_ famous lifestyle-slash-fashion magazine, and—”

Seeing Mitty’s eyes open that wide had been the highlight of her night—week, more like. “Congratulations.”

“No,” she tried to downplay it, cheeks hot. “It’s really nothing. I’m not sure I’ve found my niche yet at all and I’ll have to write several hundred more pieces before—”

“Natsume,” Shizuku interrupted again, her voice different. Stirred. Proud. “I’m serious, that’s amazing. Keep it up. You’ll be editor-in-chief of your own magazine someday.”

Leave it to Mitty to casually set the most ambitious of goals for her. Somehow, hearing her say it, it didn’t make it seem like the small accomplishment she thought it’d been. She missed this woman. Natsume swallowed against the lump in her throat and threw her arms around her old friend again. “Mitty!”

“N-Natsume! I told you to stop crying!”

They’d agreed to meet in front of the batting center, even though, sadly, it was in no condition to hold their party like the ones they used to have back in their high school days.

“Hm? Oh yeah! I had to close down for a few weeks because of renovations. We’re back in business in time for the spring tournament, so make sure you come and take a look before it gets busy! It’s grown up too since you last came,” Micchan had told them over the phone. He’d offered his apartment instead, one floor above the batting center. Lucky for them—they were carrying the party with them after all.

It was a chilly night and the streets were wet as they all huddled closely together, sharing heat and stories, laughing and chatting over one another as they climbed the stairwell they’d climbed hundreds of times before.

If she were being completely honest, Natsume had forgotten to think about Micchan.

Even when she knew she’d be seeing him again, she’d been so busy worrying about the potentially catastrophic and very-last-minute reunion with her friends, she barely had the time to spare him a thought.

It was only after her worries had been laid to rest that Micchan slowly trickled his way back into her conscience. Precisely minutes before coming face-to-face with him.

But the worst was over, she thought, and in the few seconds before they all came to a stop at a plain door, Natsume smiled and realized she only felt excitement over seeing yet another old friend—like she would’ve liked to have felt before meeting Mitty and the rest, instead of all the worrying she suffered through.

When Micchan opened the door soon after their doorbell-ringing spree, both sides lapsed into a stunned silence for several seconds before Sasayan, Haru, and Mitty, in that order, began shouting over each other.

“ _Tencho_! You’re a samurai now? You’ve always been a little bit like one, but—”

“This is my idiot brother’s influence, isn’t it? Maybe you didn’t know, Micchan, but he _cut_ his hair—”

“Don’t the parents worry about having someone looking like that hanging around their children at the shop?”

“ _All right_ , all right, get it all out, kids. Just, do it inside, please, it’s freezing. Welcome! Oh, let me carry some of those—they look heavy.”

As they all piled into Micchan’s cozy living room, Natsume remained conspicuously quiet, staring after him as he took some of their bags to the kitchen while she bent over to slide off her ankle boots—until Sasayan whistled low in her ear as he hung his coat on the hook near her. “Talk about an old flame. How come you didn’t go all red like that when you saw me? We _actually_ dated. I’m a little hurt.”

Natsume had a hard time controlling her urge to sputter. She managed to deflect with a roll of her eyes. “Oh, please, you’re not hurt at all. And _of course_ I’m red—it’s cold outside! Any human being sensitive to the cold would look the same, Sasayan! Maybe _you’re_ just not human!” Over-defensive and aware of it, she ignored the look on his face like he was trying really hard not to laugh.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to fix my make-up, no thanks to Haru. You know, I don’t appreciate being teased like that. I look forward to becoming Auntie Natsume for real someday!” She said that last bit loud enough for Haru to spin around, baring his teeth in one of his shameless grins and a thumbs up like he had it covered before signaling down the hallway to what she presumed was the way to the bathroom. She heard Micchan’s polite inquiries about the incident as she disappeared down the hall.

When she closed the door behind her and took a good look at herself in the mirror, she groaned. She knew she was flushed—she was being honest when she said she’d been flushed since she stepped foot out into the cold. That wasn’t what had her so agitated. Natsume opened her purse, fished out her tube of mascara, and tore off a piece of toilet paper, running it under hot water. She wiped away the trails of black on her cheeks as she tried to calm herself, breathing in and out.

What _really_ sucked was the rush of blood pounding in her ears at the mere sight of Micchan standing at the door. Oh, _and_ flushing all over again for Sasayan to notice and call her out on. Balling up the toilet paper, she chucked it in the bin and ripped off the applicator from her mascara. Natsume leaned over the sink until her breath fogged up the mirror. She tilted her chin up at her reflection and gave her lashes a few licks of the mascara wand.

She really could have gone all night without feeling that feeling. Anything but that feeling—anyone but Micchan.

She had no problem with attraction. In her line of work, she met with and talked and felt attracted to guys on a daily basis! Granted they all looked more like Haru or Sasayan—cute, neat, fresh-faced, and boyishly trendy. Micchan, on the other hand… Micchan was—

There was a knock on the door.

“J-just a minute!” she called out and began clearing out her space, only to pause midway when she heard the muffled voice on the other side.

“Oh, Natsume-chan? Sorry, sorry. Take your time, OK?”

Natsume silently turned long-suffering eyes to the ceiling.

She scrambled to check her hair in the mirror. She’d done it up meticulously for tonight, painstakingly french-braided along the nape of her neck, thinking the effort would ease pre-reunion jitters—it hadn’t, but at least she looked cute, even if her palms were still sweating. She unconsciously wiped them on her oversized wool sweater, carefully french-tucked into the waist of a long and smooth satin skirt, then pressed her fingers nervously against the glittering black stones of her necklace. She briefly touched her head against the cool tile next to the door before pulling it open. He was already half-turning away.

“Micchan!” she said, a little too loudly, shutting the door behind her.

When he looked over his shoulder, she greeted him with her brightest artificial smile. His smile in turn was all natural—genial and the smallest bit distant, as ever, but just as warm around the edges. “Natsume-chan,” he responded with pleasure that warmed her cheeks.

Although Natsume had scrambled earlier to find words, unlike everyone else, the guys had seriously been overreacting. Micchan looked different, sure—unlike the clean-cut boys Natsume was used to seeing, absolutely. But with the way her heart was still pounding at the sight of him, she was finding it very difficult to say these changes disagreed with her in anyway.

He’d let his hair grow much longer than the spikey mane she recalled a decade ago—hence everyone’s not-so-gentle ribbing before. Half of it was pulled into a knot at the back of his head, the lower half left loose, and it was plentiful enough to brush the tops his collarbone.

If she were feeling like her usual self, she’d easily reach up to tug at a long lock and test if it felt as soft as it looked—she wished she hadn’t lost that natural Natsume nerve.

His hair wasn’t the only thing he’d grown out. Her eyes fell to his mouth— _jaw_. … His jaw. She guessed quite a few days’ time was responsible for the rough-looking, close-trimmed beard. Naturally, her eyes mapped its reach to where it faded to skin just shy of his Adam’s apple.

She wasn’t entirely used to men who looked like that in her line of work or, by extension, social circles. Or, evidently, the effect they had on her, she thought, feeling herself fending off what felt like her umpteenth blush.

She remembered from all the times she’d barged in on him working at the batting center, Micchan had never had a problem letting his strong sense of style speak for him—a trait she found as attractive now as she did then.

There was a wildness to him now. Though he looked less put-together, the changes felt organic and—mature. He looked… good. Natsume bit back an impatient sigh. He looked _really_ good, like a damn fine wine growing better with age, which was decidedly _not_ good.

About as much had remained the same. He still had his piercings, the numerous silver bands around his fingers (and one hanging from a necklace against his breastbone), and a medley of bracelets circling his wrists. In the dimness of the hallway there was a small glowing circle of light hovering at his side—an electronic cigarette—a small and welcome deviation from his chain-smoking days. And his smile, which still had the effect on her of a hot cocoa on an overcast day.

Looking at him now, she realized she missed this too—his presence. It had always been a comforting place to be in. She tried to focus on that comfort now: the soft curve of his smile, the thick gray knit of his cardigan heavy on his shoulders, how it made him look warm and inviting, and did surprisingly little to calm her nerves the longer she looked.

“I missed… seeing you around!” Natsume faltered at first, easily moving into small-talk territory. “You know, living in Osaka all these years I’ve taken it upon myself to scope out your batting center competition! They suck. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” she laughed and it sounded breathless to her ears. She cleared her throat. “How are you? How’ve you been?”

“Ah—I’ve been just fine. Thank you.” He faltered as well. Natsume thought he looked a little struck—because of her?—but happy. He shook his head in what seemed like disbelief, taking a drag from his cigarette. “ _Sorry_. It’s just, seeing you—all of you—it’s a trip.”

Natsume nodded vigorously, leaning towards him with crossed arms. “It’s surreal, right?”

“Yeah. It’s amazing how a few years can shape a person and at the same time do… not as much for me. Somehow I feel left behind.”

Natsume grinned at him, finding it easy to tease him. “Are you going to cry, Micchan?”

He laughed, but Natsume thought the shine of his eyes a little too bright for under the low lights. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I think I just realized how much I missed having you all around the shop.”

“We were all terrible about visiting each other. I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to sync our schedules. I’m so glad we managed this Christmas get-together.”

“In April.”

“We were too busy for actual Christmas!”

“It’s hard to believe how much you guys have grown,” Micchan repeated with a shake of his head. “Look at you, Natsume-chan.”

“Hardly! I still get confused for a college freshman.”

“No, it’s nothing you can see, really. But, just talking to you, it’s easy to tell. You’re not quite the girl I remember.”

Natsume smiled. “Not gonna argue with you on that one. Plus you have this weird sort of sinister sixth sense when it comes to people.”

“Sinister!”

“Yeah, it’s a little scary! You always knew just what to say whenever I needed...”

She was going to say ‘help’, then thought ‘someone’, then ‘a friend’, and finally it didn’t matter, because his glowing smile was all she needed to know her message was received. The silence that settled between them was a comfortable one and Natsume’s heart still did not let up. Her eyes fell on his hand as it slowly moved her way and landed softly on her pinned-up braid, casually sending her pulse racing.

“Looking over you kids was the least I could do. All I ever wanted was for you all to survive high school relatively unscathed.”

Where she felt fondness just a few seconds ago, she now felt a vague twinge of annoyance despite the welcome sentiment behind his choice of words. It was just that one word that stuck her like a thorn. Natsume looked away, a bit petulant. “Come on, Micchan—we’re not kids anymore.” She’d lifted her hand to knock his away, but the feeling of his skin under her fingertips quickly arrested that notion, and her hand rested on top of his. She couldn’t make out his eyes, not a chance, even as he crowded her gently against the bathroom door.

No, he wasn’t crowding her, she realized, heart in her throat. He was walking towards the bathroom door and she happened to be standing right in front of it. “I know,” he said simply and smiled warmly at her again before reaching around her to twist open the doorknob.

By the time Natsume stumbled back out into the living room, Haru and Sasayan were going over drinking games they could play with the beer and sake bottles while Shizuku set up the karaoke machine. She released a huge breath.

* * *

“ _Slaughter, kill ‘em all_ ,” Micchan sings again far too innocently before she opens her eyes and finds herself staring into the amber bottom of a glass. She bites back her laughter as she takes the refilled glass being held over her head and sits up on the couch. “That’s an interesting… rendition, Micchan, but you can’t dethrone the karaoke _queen_ , especially not with her own song.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Your title is safe, for now.”

Natsume snorts as she takes a sip from the glass and belatedly realizes it’s hot. They’d all been drinking regular sake up until now. “Mm, oh this is perfect,” she moans, cradling the glass to her bosom as the warmth spread through her and all the way to her toes. She could hear Micchan’s laughter.

“I figured you’d like it hot. It’s a little chillier now with the rain.”

Natsume opens her eyes to Micchan standing in the middle of his living room, looking at the remains of the party in mildly troubled silence. She gets up from the couch, placing her glass on the table before she stretches, reaching for her toes. “I’ll help you clean.”

“No, no, no, forget about that. I’m not touching a thing until the morning. Let’s just relax. I hate to waste a good thunderstorm anyway.”

Natsume smiles curiously as she plops back down on the couch and he joins her, sinking gladly into the cushions. “What do you like to do when it gets like this?”

“Well, I try to read, but I get distracted, so I just… listen. There’s something about the rain, though, isn’t there. Life seems to want you slow down, whether you like it or not.”

“That’s certainly the case for me.” Natsume is half-draped against the back of the couch, her head resting in the crook of her elbow as she listens to him. He’s taken off his sunglasses since the rest of the motley crew left and also dimmed the lights. She saw a dimmer in the bathroom too. She almost forgot about his light sensitivity.

“What about you, Natsume-chan, what are your preferred activities on rainy, thundering evenings? Lazy or productive?”

It isn’t fair. Now whenever he smiles at her, Natsume finds herself captivated by the deep lines creasing the corners of his kind gray-blue eyes. She’d need copious amounts of alcohol to abate the fluttering in her chest, the thrilled thrum in her belly.

“ _Laaaazy, of course_ ,” she drawls as she theatrically arches her arm over and above her head, head tilting backwards.

Micchan laughs loudly at this and she’s giggling herself when she rolls back into place.

He’s kept the music on in the background, she notices during a lull in the rain. A molasses-slow, dreamy synth and guitar concoction croons softly from his old speakers tucked away somewhere between the furniture and potted plants.

They listen in comfortable silence for a while. Natsume, suddenly shy, avoids looking into his eyes, her gaze making it as far as his fingers on the armrest as he drums them in time with the slow rhythm of the music.

“I have a cat I usually cuddle with,” she finds herself saying, still not meeting his eyes. “My favorite thing to do when it rains is to get under my huge blanket with her and binge the latest drama on TV.” She blushes as deeply as if she’s just revealed a lurid secret, though she can’t imagine why. The truth is, she’s never actually said those exact words out loud to anyone. It feels oddly intimate sharing a personal habit no one else knows, as mundane as it was.

The ensuing silence is the loudest of them all and her blush deepens. Before she could start overthinking again, she feels the couch dip next to her as Micchan gets up and disappears into the hall. It’s not long before he rounds the corner again, holding what looks like a thickly folded blanket. He sits back down at her side and smoothly unravels the enormous throw over their laps, with enough of it left to pool at their feet.

“What’s your cat’s name?” he’s asking without missing a beat as he settles himself anew underneath the blanket. Blindsided, Natsume’s still staring him, feeling her heart as it swells and she can’t hope to hide it from her face.

She’s trying to contain the fullness of her smile as she answers, but she can’t. “Uh. It’s Shizuku.”

“Did you say Shizuku?”

And she forgot she was back in her hometown and had to lie about her cat’s name to the people who knew its namesake.

Natsume’s still too caught up in the aftershock from Micchan’s gesture to do little more than laugh low and self-consciously, placing a hand to her still flushed cheeks. “Yes. I know. That was supposed to be a secret. But the way she’s so surly and cute just reminds me so much of the real Shizuku!”

“I promise your secret’s safe with me. And it sounds like the perfect name for her.”

Micchan tries to hide a growing smirk behind his hand, but soon enough he’s shaking with the effort, to which Natsume reacts by lunging herself at his side on the couch in a flustered fit, pulling at his hand by the wrist as she loudly insists “it really is! Micchan, you bully!” over his now relentless laughter.

“No, I know! I really meant it, Natsume-chan—I’m sorry for laughing!” he manages to get out between even more laughter, his sparkling eyes as crinkly as ever. It’s enough to make her stop and take account of herself. His wrist is still trapped in her hand and her other had landed on the armrest behind him—she’s on her knees as they press solidly against his outer thigh. His eyes are shining with mirth as they look into hers.

They’re the closest they’ve been that night. Close enough to press a kiss into the juncture between his jaw and ear, which she does, slowly, after his laughter fades into the soothing backdrop of music and rain.

She can smell him here, where the blood rushes and his skin is hot to the touch. She could only catch notes of it before, but the dark, sweet saffron and earthy spice of his scent now fill her senses and dizzy her. She can hear his throat as he swallows thickly.

“Thank you,” Natsume says softly when she pulls back and experiences the singular pleasure of staring into Micchan’s flushed face for the first time. “For the blanket,” she continues. “For still being as kind and thoughtful as little Natsume remembers.”

Not that she wants him to think of her as “little Natsume” anymore.

Something tells her he doesn’t, as he shifts in his seat and in her grip. She quickly lets go of his wrist and sits back down with her legs folded underneath her.

Micchan seems to have recovered and he’s smiling at her again, if a little strangely—there was something almost forlorn about it. “Natsume-chan, I’m sure you have all sorts of people in your life now, but I hope you know, all that support and kindness? It’s the least you deserve. Don’t just mean when you were little. You deserve somebody great every day.”

Natsume sinks sideways and half-buries her face into the cushions. Where did _that_ come from? Was he trying to get her to kiss up on him again? Because that’s how he gets her to kiss up on him again.

Something tells her that’s not what he was aiming for, but he can’t blame her for this.

She instead settles for leaning back into his space, until she finds herself boldly nestled in the cozy nook between his arm and his side. He’s splayed out comfortably, half-reclined, and so she lies partially across his chest, arms tucked underneath her chin. Natsume might be blushing to the tips of her hair, but she meets his gaze in earnest, letting herself feel the emboldening effects from his words, her body lighting up in response to his nearness.

They fit together so enticingly that for several moments neither of them says a word that isn’t shared with one very charged and consequential look. She doesn’t know what to expect, going out on a limb like this, but she watches as Micchan considers her with a blend of careful surprise and softly simmering interest.

His arm drops from where it was draped along the back of the couch to rest cautiously along the coast of her back, curving towards and around her shoulder. She feels his fingertips as they run over the fabric of her sweater, her arm entirely lost in shivers.

Discombobulated as she is, Natsume takes a centering breath and both carefully and belatedly answers. “Sadly, those people are still few and far in between. However, yes, I do know a lot of great people and while I try to push myself out of my shell every day to open up to them, turns out I’m a very picky lady. I definitely only keep the best and the kindest close to me, as evidenced by tonight. It’s something that I picked up on when I was young.”

She smiles at him, feeling herself full with affection, heart still beating desire into her throat.

“Micchan, I don’t think you realize what you’ve been, so allow me to enlighten you. I never had another grown-up at the time recognize how important my friendships are to me, especially with other girls. All those times you listened to everything I had to say without making me feel stupid or small, all those times you talked me through fights with Mitty, Sasayan, and others, in the end, they helped me learn to communicate and build healthier foundations in the friendships I have now. And I also don’t think you realize the hand you had in setting the bar so high I sometimes struggle with it,” she laughs and he pays close attention to her every word, cheeks pink and eyes thoughtful.

Natsume sighs and finds the courage to reach out to touch his prickly chin with gentle fingertips, painfully avoiding his bottom lip. “So, at the risk of having you deflect on me again with another overly modest, perfectly kind Micchan-ism, I just wanted to make sure you knew that you were kind of a big deal in my life, in more ways than one—and in a lot of ways you still are. And I hadn’t really thought about any of this but it’s been that kind of night and now we’re here and, I _missed_ you. You must think I’m crazy,” she adds on a breath of a laugh.

Micchan can’t easily play this one off, as she’d hoped. He doesn’t seem to be able to find the words—she gives him the time but knows he must be feeling put on the spot—and in the end he gives her an indulgent, self-conscious smile. “No, I think you’re sweet.” He grips her shoulder firmly. “I’ve missed you too, Natsume-chan. You were always such a formidable girl. I’m not surprised you’re taking the world by storm. Hell, you even brought it here with you.”

“What can I say? I’m secretly a magical girl.”

“Is Shizuku the cat your secret talking guardian in this scenario?”

Natsume abruptly grabs him by the waist, a warning. “Don’t you start! But of course, she is.”

As he laughs again merrily, clearly recalling their earlier conversation, Natsume wants to kiss him. She wants to see what would happen if she lights the fire and this time, they let it burn. Did she have courage enough for that?

“Speaking of old cans of worms,” she starts innocently enough. “That night on the bridge when you rejected me—”

“Whoa, you’re actually bringing that up!”

She carries on. “I seem to recall you saying you never once truly laughed with us and meant it. You were always standing just far away enough from us to not get involved.”

“Did I say that? That guy sounds terrible.”

“You did, yes. I remember because it was particularly brutal, but turns out he wasn’t all bad.” She pauses, heart skipping a beat.

This was it.

“Micchan. I was curious. Did you feel that way, tonight? When you were laughing with Sasayan so hard you cried, when you made that toast to celebrate Mitty and Haru’s engagement, when I practically gave you a recap of my life showing you pictures from my blog—did you feel that same distance as back when we were kids?”

Natsume meets Micchan’s surprised expression with more intensity than she thought she’d feel.

“I—... No. Definitely not like before.” He regains some of his composure. “But, Natsume-chan, there’s always a distance I have to maintain when it comes to you kids. So I can properly look after you, make sure you’re all safe and happy by making sure I’m still a dependable guy. Like any good _tencho_ would, don’t you think? I don’t think that’ll ever change.”

Natsume draws back a little, half-stunned. “Wow. I wish that didn’t bother me. Has anyone ever told you that you need to relax?”

Micchan chuckles nervously. “Well, it’s hard for me to let myself get involved. I prefer it that way. It makes me feel like I can protect you all for a little longer.” The hand on her back now touches the nape of her neck, so softly that a spark of anger tinged with longing sets off in her chest.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Micchan.” What she needs is something else entirely.

“No,” he agrees. “You don’t, sweetheart. You’re fully capable of that on your own, I know.” It’s the first time he calls her this. His knuckles brush a flyaway hair from her cheek and Natsume, in an act borne out of frustration, turns her face into his palm and nuzzles into it a kiss. She doesn’t stop, kissing the inside of his wrist and lingering, nose brushing against the sleeve of his cardigan as she hears his breath catch. His hand now cups the back of her neck, whether to encourage her or stop her, she can’t yet tell. She can barely stop to process what she’s done.

She’s crossed some kind of line doing this, and it feels powerful seeing there are reactions to her advances at all that threaten the hold on his ever-controlled front.

Under the blanket, her hand is hiked up high on his thigh. In rapid succession, she squeezes her hand, his fingers tighten around her neck, and their heated gazes both drop to each other’s parted lips.

She thinks she’s being clear when she says, “I have to leave for Osaka in the morning.”

Micchan’s white-knuckled grip on the armrest barely relaxes and his voice is rough when he responds, “Right.” He blinks several times. “Of course, yeah, I should get your room ready. You must be exhausted.”

He’s already disentangling himself from her and lets the blanket fall to the floor in his haste to get up and put some space between them. “I have some shirts and pajama bottoms in my closet if you want to help yourself while I prepare the room.”

Natsume is left to stare open-mouthed at his retreating back. Her heart drops to the pit of her stomach and she almost feels nauseous as she sits up straight on the couch.

_What just happened?_

How on Earth was she supposed to face him again? He obviously didn’t want her near him.

Natsume eventually forces herself off the couch. Slowly, she gathers her bearings and makes her way down the hall. There are three doors, two of which are open, and one which has light spilling from inside. She can hear Micchan loudly making the bed—distracting himself? Natsume quietly finds her way into the room right before it, vaguely registering it as Micchan’s.

The room is surprisingly neat, with a shabby office desk taking up one corner and his wardrobe in the other, near the foot of his bed in the middle. The room smells of him and Natsume is trying not to get bummed out over the distinct feeling of being rejected by Micchan all over again as she stands before his open wardrobe in the dim light of his desk lamp.

All she can think, all she can feel, is ‘ _this sucks’_ as she sifts through the hangers in the closet and the bottom drawers for clothes of his she’d be wearing, probably through a restless night of tossing and overthinking. More than that, Natsume can’t deny her heart hurts, feeling like she’d ruined the genuine reconnection they had built over the last several hours. Her eyes begin to sting.

By the time Micchan appears at the door with a friendly and timid knock on the frame, Natsume can barely contain her sniffling. “Room’s ready for you now, Natsume-chan. I changed the sheets and it’s as good as new. Hey,” he starts, voice changing like a flipped switch, and not a moment later she hears him walking towards in large, purposeful footfalls.

“Hey,” she hears him go again, softly, and he’s right in front of her. Natsume is one of those people who cries harder whenever someone shows her the least amount of concern. She can’t stop the tears from welling up as he takes her face in his hands and tilts it up towards him so she can’t look away. She’s burning with embarrassment and can’t talk past the lump in her throat even as he wipes her tears with his thumbs and suddenly replaces them with his lips. She feels the bite of his beard as he carefully peppers kisses on her eyelashes, her cheekbones, her forehead, and she stirs under his ministrations, growing more and more urgent, until she briefly cries out and he finally stumbles across her mouth.

He kisses her so deeply the wind is knocked out of her and her body sinks into his. Her face is warm in his big, steady hands, the pajamas she picked out dropped and forgotten at their feet. Natsume’s so stunned she forgets to kiss back.

When he pulls back, she’s surprised to find his face is beet red as he searches her wet eyes. Their breathing is quickened as they share the same air and she hiccups, “I want you.” She holds onto the arms still holding on to her tightly. “Micchan. I really want you.”

Micchan pets the sides of her face all the way down to her neck and shoulders and back again. “Me too. For a while now. I’m sorry, Natsume. I’m-”

“You’re _so_ stupid,” she interrupts as she slips her hands around his back and beneath his cardigan to the shirt underneath.

“I am so stupid,” he agrees profusely and helps her shrug off the layer. “But Natsume-chan. If you’re—if I made you too upset, we don’t have to do anything.”

“The only way I’m not having you tonight is if you don’t want me to.”

He knocks his forehead against hers in a helpless sort of way. “I want you to, but—“

“That word really doesn’t belong in that sentence, Micchan.”

“ _But,_ I want to have you just as much, if not more. I don’t think you realize just how hard I had to fight myself out on that couch.”

The cardigan is off and her hands are restless. “Really?”

“You had me in a cold sweat, sweetheart,” he chuckles and smooths her hair back. “I just need you to know, before there isn’t enough blood in our heads to think straight, we can stop at any time. I mean it.”

“I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you,” she smiles as she runs her hands over his chest. “While I appreciate that, Micchan, I really don’t think you’ll have to worry about me.”

“Is that so?” he whispers in his low rough voice that shoots straight between her restless thighs.

“Yeah, and if you’re quite finished, you could let me prove it to you.”

“I won’t get in your way, then.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs as she pulls him down by the neck for another dizzying kiss she feels all the way to her toes. Micchan is quick to rid himself of his shirt, thankfully for her who’s just as eager to touch, reveling in the heat of him as he moves her firmly against the closet door with his body, his hands easily capturing hers and lifting them above her head. He kisses her like this, one hand wrapped around her wrists while the other conjures butterflies in her stomach with the way he runs his hand across it, slowly rounding her hip and settling just above the swell of her ass.

He’s either shy or teasing her. It must be the latter, with the way he pauses, smiles into her greedy mouth, then grabs a handful of her as he wetly kisses the soft underside of her chin, her neck. Natsume arches into him instinctively, his lips the starting point for the liquid heat that sears through her. He likes having her pressed against him, she can tell. His breath comes hotter and quicker on her neck and she can feel him swelling quickly along the softness of her lower belly.

It feels as good as it feels hot—too hot, and she pulls at the binding of his hand with the intention of ripping her sweater off, but when he releases her, both their hands meet at her waist and together they tug it from her waistband and over her head. He’s still gentle when he turns her to hold her flush against his chest, one arm snaked around her hips and the other across her shoulders. He holds her in place like this, embracing her as he kisses the jut of her spine, bites the slope of her shoulder. Natsume soundly encourages him and reacts in the same slow lift and pull of her hips into his, pushing against his straining erection. His hands engulf her lace-covered breasts, and she finds she rather loves the sound of his slow undoing: small, faltering moans, intimate and powerless in her ear.

Her own contented sighs join his, her head falling back against his chest as he thumbs and pinches her hardened nipples through the lace cups of her bralette, which he unhooks in a hurry now and slides down her arms to join their slowly growing pile of clothes. Micchan turns her again to face him, never keeping their bodies apart for longer than a second, and drops to his knees in front of her. He looks up to meet her eyes and she shivers. They’re unguarded and frankly hooded with desire. He noses her sternum, breathing deeply, then along the curve of her breast where it meets her ribs. His beard is rough even when he’s trying to be so careful.

Natsume doesn’t mind it however. As he wavers, she reaches around to the back of his head and undoes his bun with one hand, quickly sinking the fingers of her other into his dark, loose hair and pulls him flush against her naked skin. Micchan chuckles as his hair falls into his eyes, painting quite the striking picture as he catches her breast in his mouth. Somehow, she can feel the same wet hot stripe of his tongue mirrored between her thighs, which start to shake with his thorough attentions. He wraps his arms around them then, clearly having felt the tremors, and his hands sweetly caress from her bum to the backs of her thighs, down to her calves. He teases a nipple with his teeth, she bites down on her lip, and when he lifts his hands back up, her skirt comes with it. He’s lavishing her other breast with his warm and enthusiastic tongue, it along with his pleasured hums doing delicious things to flush her skin and quicken her breath further.

Her skirt is bunched up high around her thighs, but the silken material slips back down and that’s when Micchan releases her breast with a small kiss to its tip (at which she blushes deeply) and, still on his knees, shuffles her backwards the short distance to the edge of his bed until her thighs bump to a stop. She feels his hands around her undo the hidden back zipper of her skirt and he helps as she steps out of it. A soft touch to the back of her knees is enough to weaken them and she’s sitting on the mattress in nothing but her bikini briefs.

He stands then, fingertips trailing over her legs along the way. Natsume watches as he unbuckles his belt. He’s just undone his fly when she hooks a foot around his calf and pulls him on top of her. She’s giggling as he catches himself by digging his hand into the mattress next to her face, just barely saving her from the full weight of him.

He huffs a laugh, settling almost resignedly between her legs, jeans only halfway down his butt. “You’re not the most patient girl, Natsume-chan.”

“I think I’ve waited long enough.” She kisses him, wrapping her legs around his waist. This changes his tune quickly enough and soon his hips are bearing down into hers, rolling long and slow together as they make out on his bed.

His jeans are low enough that she can feel the length of him through his boxer briefs, rocking solidly into the soft cushion of her vulva, sliding against her stiffening clitoris. Her fingers dig into the hot skin of his sloped back. With his fingers curled behind her nape and his thumb pressed along the edge beneath her chin, he angles her head up towards him, his tongue dipping lasciviously into her mouth. She feels it in her cunt then and Natsume thinks he could very well bring her to orgasm just like this.

As they rut, not unlike teenagers, Micchan has built a steady pace and she realizes he’s not letting up, his hips now moving with a snap to them that aims directly at her clit. Her hips lift to meet his, but he’s doing most of the work. He moves like he can’t get enough of her, kisses her like he wants to swallow her whole. His scent fills her again and before she can formulate another thought, her skin prickles from head to toe, her body tenses all over, and she comes in a sudden sun-bright burst of raw pleasure. Micchan kindly swallows her gasps, riding her wave with her as her muscles slowly relax and she lies breathless, boneless, and blindsided beneath him.

That, definitely took longer under normal circumstances. He was an absolute show-off or she was just releasing years upon years of pent-up sexual frustration.

Micchan doesn’t seem fazed by the feelings she’s working though. Instead he kisses her drooped eyelids and she hears him murmur the word “beautiful” as he moves away from her. When she looks down towards the foot of the bed in his direction, he’s removed his pants the rest of the way and, to her quiet delight, his briefs, and his cock bounced free, as stiff as he’d been between her legs. Micchan hadn’t finished when she did—that had all been for her.

There’s a pearl of sticky precum spilling from his tip which he spreads over his shaft in a few quick pumps of his fist. Natsume licks her lips as he ducks to his bedside table where he rummages for a few seconds. She peeks as he rips open the foil condom packet and turns to her as he fits it carefully over his cock. A fresh lick of arousal runs through her and she wants nothing more than to return the favor and get her fill of him, literally.

So when she peels off her drenched panties, she’s caught off-guard when he grabs her by the waist and scoots her to the edge of the bed. Micchan kneels on the floor again, his hands strong on her thighs as he closes in, face level with her parted knees, looking like he’s been served a particularly delicious feast.

He looks at her and asks, “Are you too sensitive for my tongue right now?”

Natsume doesn’t quite know how to react to a question she never thought she’d hear coming from this man’s mouth outside of the odd dirty dream or two she’d had over the years.

“N-no, I’m not. Don’t you want to…” she can’t help but begin to ask, but Micchan swiftly cuts her off with a weak smile.

“Oh, more than you know. But I also think if I don’t taste you right now after having you undone like that, I’d never forgive myself.”

Natsume lifts herself up on her elbows, staring down at him. He’d be the death of her, no doubt about it.

When she nods minutely, Micchan gently massages the outside of her thighs in what feels like gratitude. He presses kisses to the insides, lips catching against the skin as he moves deeper into the V of her legs, rich with her smell, painted with her come. He grips her hip with one hand and hitches her other thigh over his shoulder when she begins to tremble again and decides to drop her head back onto the mattress, her eyes looking straight above her, vaguely registering the rain mirrored in shadows on the ceiling from the storm still crashing outside the window.

He licks and sucks on the inside of the thigh hiked over his shoulder. Natsume feels exposed, sure, and it takes a minute to adjust to the beard on such sensitive skin, but she’s seen the look on his face, had felt his excitement (and promptly came on it). She was in caring hands that were beyond eager to please her. She wishes she could say she was used to the feeling, but it keeps catching her by surprise. He keeps catching her by surprise, struck with how thoroughly mutual their desire was for each other. She wanted her fill of him, but, it seemed, not before he’d wrung every drop from her satiated body.

When he meets her, it’s with a kiss so tender, her heart stomach flutters and her face flushes deeply again, her mouth parting promptly. His tongue follows, less shy, boldly tasting her as promised in one large flat stroke of her center. There’s some tenderness from their desperate rutting earlier, but she recognizes the fresh arousal that overcomes her like a tide spreading over the shore. It’s his softness, she thinks. It always has been. Right now, it pours from him like a waterfall in his intimate kisses, the way he thoughtfully avoids her clit, and uses his lips and tongue on her labia. When he hums-slash-moans into her, she balls his sheets in her fists, tries not to push her cunt in face.

He circles her entrance with the tip of his tongue and her hips stir against him. He strokes his hand over the width of her thigh on his shoulder as the hand on her hip moves to rest on the soft mass of curly hair of her mons pubis. He dips his tongue slowly and slickly inside her and she resists the urge to grab onto his head by pulling at his bedsheets instead, filling the air with throaty, honeyed moans.

As he fucks her with his tongue, he moves his thumb from above to tease the hood of her clit, massaging in small, deep circles from the sides.

“ _Fuck,_ ” she gasps, unable to contain the expletive or the spike of heat that rushes through her and bucks her cunt into his welcoming mouth. He seems to be drinking her in, alternating between coaxing the wetness from her cunt with his tongue and then sucking it from her labia. The sounds coming from him between her legs are only rivaled by her own. Natsume finds herself coasting along the edge of another orgasm when her knees begin to shake and she squishes his head between her thighs.

“Micchan—”

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart,” he moans into her throbbing cunt.

“You,” she manages to gasp. “Inside.”

In a flash he’s perched above her and in another he’s buried his cock as deeply inside her as he can. Their cries are hot, sharp gusts cutting into the air between them as Micchan collapses in against her, his forehead on her shoulder, thrusting hard and messy. His face is squeezed against her neck, pelvis hitting hard against her clit with every eager thrust and her back arches as she clenches around him and feels the mounting tension peak, teetering her right over the edge.

Micchan keeps fucking her, keeps biting her shoulder, as she comes hard around his cock, cries reverberating throughout the room like thunder. He’s kissing her again, not unlike when he entered the room, desperate and urgent and somehow still adoring, and she echoes the same affection in her kiss in return.

“Come, sweetheart,” she whispers in the same loving way he uses with her and his strangled gasps, as he does exactly that, are coated with pleasured surprise.

His hips slowly piston to a stop and she feels him twitching inside her long afterwards. His sweaty forehead is pressed against her sweaty chest as they focus on catching their breaths, floating on the same cloud of bliss.

“I’m not trying to be dramatic, but I could live between your thighs, Natsume. You’re delectable.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to her breast, exhausted.

“I really wanted to grab your hair,” she admits quietly, a little nonsensical in her foggy bliss, and somehow, after all this, still capable of feeling embarrassed.

“Please do so next time. You can even pull it if you’d like—I like that.”

Natsume runs her fingers through his hair as he lies on her chest _._

_Next time._

She tries to think when next time could be when she lives too far to see him on any kind of regular basis. Then she remembers, there’s the wedding coming up soon.

Natsume tries not to overthink again, tries not to look or feel too pleased. It’s fucking hard not to look it though, after he pleased her over and over.

He brings her a glass of water from the kitchen, and after drinking deeply, they drift off to sleep together and she finds it easy to clear her anxious mind of anxious thoughts when he makes her feel held and safe all through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> It's just a throwaway line, but Micchan never officially had photophobia. I wrote that part before we learned why he wore sunglasses, but decided to keep that in. If this fandom weren’t dead, I would write that wedding sequel, but for now, I give unto the world one more rarepair fic for one of my most beloved ships.


End file.
